


destroy everything you touch

by Gildedstorm



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, a very sith alliance, darth marr outlander au, in which I nudge the timeline a bit and ruin everything, just gonna tag more characters and relationships as they appear, rkorya makes mistakes, team give arcann and vaylin actual sensible writing, what's up guys I'm here to wreck the zakuul plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 11:31:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildedstorm/pseuds/Gildedstorm
Summary: The Emperor takes an interest in one of his own a little earlier. Darth Baras loses a pawn, and Valkorion gains one. This changes nothing, and theneverything.There is a price to pay when loyalty is misplaced, and Rkorya learns just how steep it is.Or: Darth Marr is very, very tired, and destiny will burn for it.





	

Something’s wrong – Rkorya feels it as soon as she steps into the hangar. Her ship lies ahead, as usual – and in front of it are two robed strangers, strong enough that she can feel the Force stir, hanging heavy around them. Broonmark makes to draw his vibrosword, warbling a warning, and she stops him with an impatient gesture, though her own hand rests near her lightsaber.

“You have nothing to fear from us,” one of them – a pureblood Sith, by the look of it – says as she nears, and she bristles.

“I fear no one.” And then, haughtily, “I am on a task from my master, Darth Baras. You’re in my way.” It grates, a little, to rely on her master’s influence, to be so easily made the brute at his heels, but it does have its uses. Usually, it gets at least some kind of reaction, but neither of them even blink.

“A greater master than Baras requires your attention.”

She frowns at that. Greater than Baras – a Dark Council member, then? His master in turn, Vengean – she’s never met him, but the plan for the war is his. Perhaps they take her hesitation for assent, because the first pushes back his hood, stepping forward.

“Look upon us. I am Servant One, this is Servant Two. We are the Emperor’s Hand, and the Emperor has chosen you for a task.”

_The Emperor_. For a moment, shock overrides all instinct, and she goes still, eyes widening. The Emperor has been silent since the war, since the Treaty of Coruscant, but Rkorya had grown up in the shelter of the storms he made on Dromund Kaas, felt the power in each bolt of lightning. She strives towards control, something like composure, and straightens, lifting her chin. “I... would be honoured.”

Honoured is, in truth, too small a word. The thought of the Emperor’s regard is too much to grasp all at once, so she tries to pick it apart as best as she can. “But why choose me? I’m not on the Dark Council. My accomplishments have been on Darth Baras’ orders.” _Modesty_ is not something she’s ever tried to laid claim to, but it’s true – apart from Plan Zero and turning Jaesa to the Sith, she has no great projects to her name, nothing truly _hers_. That would change in time, but... not yet.

“When a stone is thrown into the water, we look not to the stone, but who threw it. When a lightsaber fells a foe, we praise the hand that wields it. But the Emperor sees all,” Servant Two says, clarifying little. She wouldn’t have tolerated being riddled at, normally, but if these truly are the Emperor’s chosen agents....

“Your actions have proven your loyalty as well as your strength. The Emperor has need of both. Delay your master’s wishes, and travel to Voss.”

“Why?” she asks, unable to keep silent. “What’s on Voss?” She hasn’t even _heard_ of the planet, and Baras will be impatient for news of her success over his enemy. A detour will draw his attention, and his suspicion.

“A task for which only you are suited for,” Servant One says smoothly, and it takes effort not to glower at him. For months Baras has only told her what she _needs_ to know to complete her missions – almost inevitably the barest details – and having another Sith neatly evade giving anything away makes her snappish. “Go swiftly, and you will be contacted when you arrive.” Normally, there would be a chance – a good chance, even – of this being a trap, but most Sith would not claim a relation to the Emperor so casually. That, and there is something to them in the Force, a lingering sense of an echo – she’s never felt anything like them before.

Even her stiff pride can’t detract from her awe, and she bows her head. “My life is the Emperor’s. I will go at once.”

“Succeed,” Servant Two says, “and eternity will be your reward.” He doesn’t wait for her to puzzle that apart, and they both make for the hangar’s exit. Rkorya waits until her sense of them is entirely gone to relax, and Broonmark, wisely silent for the encounter, tilts his head in question.

<Sith clan serve Emperor?>

Her hands curl. She has never been one to fixate on ambition, plot her advancement, but this is more than an opportunity. This is... _everything_. “Yes. Always. And as long as I breathe, so do you.” The Talz rumbles his assent, following her up the ramp to the ship. It only takes scarce minutes to explain his presence and get everything settled, but even that feels like too long, with impatience urging her on.

“Shall I comm Darth Baras, my lord?” Quinn asks, and she doesn’t even hesitate.

“Not yet – I have another task to take care of before we’re through here. Tell me what you know about Voss."

* * *

 

The Dark Heart is aptly named. Even with the Voss healer’s protection on her, she’s never set foot in a place so potently steeped in the dark side before. The tombs on Korriban, the temples on Dromund Kaas, they aren’t anything like this. They are places of power, channels to tap into and legacies to honour, and not once has she felt the risk of being overwhelmed. Here, though... the Force isn’t oppressive, it’s _aware_. Rkorya’s skin crawls, despite her best attempts to focus.

The outer wilderness was not pleasant to travel through, but at least it had warped and hungering creatures to strike down. The stone halls here are empty of any threat, and yet she’s certain that she is being watched by something powerful and malicious.

That it may do more than watch hasn’t escaped her. The silence is a calculating one, and whatever is here alongside the Voice of the Emperor hasn’t made its move only because it hasn’t decided on what to do with her yet.

She is Sith. To be observed and hunted like prey is a new feeling, and an unwelcome one – more and more, _she_ has been the one to dread, the relentless threat that cannot be stopped or turned away. That she fears this place and whatever haunts it stings, but with fear comes anger, and with anger, strength.

Whatever awaits her, it’ll regret trying to get in her way.

By the time she reaches the centre of the temple, she’s gritting her teeth, anxious for a fight or a target, something concrete to deal with. Malice hangs heavy in the air, and it’s instinct to lash out in retaliation, but there is nothing here but emptiness and the sound of her own footsteps. When she spots the Voss Mystic kneeling patiently on the floor, she reflexively goes for her lightsaber, only faltering when she remembers what, _who,_ she’s here for.

“So my warrior arrives,” the Mystic says, and turns around. For an instant, his presence sears itself into the Force, so vast that she lacks the means to grasp it. It’s just _power_ pressing down on her, power unfurling like space itself, and she is caught up in it, helpless and stunned. “I am your Emperor.”

She wavers, but when Rkorya kneels, it is through choice, and not through her legs simply giving out beneath her. That is something to be proud of, surely. “Your Hand sent me to free you,” she says, once she’s caught her breath. The awe of being chosen by him is edging into absurdity, now. Her master, her enemies, her overseer, they all spoke of her strength, that inevitably she would one day be one of the most powerful Sith in the galaxy, but that vaunted strength must seem so _small_ to him.

“And you shall.” He gestures, and she slowly rises to her feet, struggling to not look completely overwhelmed. “It was your master who trapped me here, years ago, and so it is fitting that his apprentice will be the one to free me from this prison. Unless you owe Baras some shred of loyalty?”

It has the sound of an idle accusation, a test, but she stiffens anyways. “Darth Baras sees me as his enforcer and his pawn, nothing more. He’s given me no reason to deserve my loyalty. But my life has always belonged to the Empire. To you.”

He laughs – a quiet sound, but abrupt in this ancient, echoing place. “You have been wasted with that grasping fool.” The Voice studies her for a moment, the scrutiny almost uncomfortable. There is no reflection of who he truly is in those faceted eyes, the smooth expression. If she dismisses her memory of the power he showed, the fact that he so easily ignores the feeling of the Force here, she might have taken him for an ordinary Voss. “I tire of this galaxy, of my empire’s petty struggles in its search for conquest. Yet even now, it still produces something of worth.”

For once, Rkorya doesn’t need to strive for feigned humility or bite back an impulse to speak out of turn. In his presence, it is easier to stay silent, and the Voice clearly does not expect her input.

“Draw your lightsaber and strike this vessel down. When I return, my Hand will contact you.” He smiles, the expression strangely distant.

“After all, such devotion to your Emperor should be rewarded.”

* * *

 

“Are you sure about this?” Vette asks, as Quinn plugs in the coordinates the Hand sent her. It’ll put them somewhere in wild space, at the edges of what either the Empire or the Republic have mapped. There shouldn’t be anything out there, but after Voss, she’s not inclined to doubt the Hand’s directions. “I mean, it’s not too late to turn around and head back to Dromund Kaas.”

“I somehow don’t think Baras will be forgiving of my _accidentally_ freeing the Voice and ignoring his orders. One way or another, I won’t be his apprentice for much longer.” But Vette has good reason to not sound thrilled about this, and she shakes her head, trying to ignore her own impatience for a moment. “But just because I intend to see this through doesn’t mean you have to. Tell me where you’d like to go, and I’ll see you have everything you need for a new start. That goes for all of you,” she says, looking her strange, ragged crew over.

“Woah, wait, that’s not what I meant! I mean, I’m not a fan of all the Sith craziness, but... this is the steadiest that my life’s ever been. I’m not passing that up.”

“It’s as you said, my lord – Darth Baras will not look kindly on you or your allies, after this. I believe I’ll take my chances at your side,” Quinn says, looking up from the console to meet her eyes for a moment.

“Not that I like to agree with the Captain on much, but he’s right. Serving with you’s been an honour, and it’s one I want to continue,” Pierce adds.

“I’m with you until the end, master.” That’s Jaesa, quiet but undeniably fervent, flaring with conviction.

Out of all of them, Broonmark has the fewest reasons to stay, has been the least affected by her sudden departure from Baras’ plans. The Talz shrugs when she eyes him. <We swore life to Sith clan. Where Sith go, we will follow.>

Their dedication warms her. That she deserves power and recognition has never been in question, but Rkorya did not expect to gather this haphazard group to her, let alone be rewarded with loyalty as strong as her own. Whatever comes, they are her people. She will do what she can to protect them.

“Thank you,” she says, and then lifts her chin, dispensing with sentiment. “Then let’s not waste any more time.”

The ship emerges from hyperspace smoothly, and Rkorya hisses at her first look at wild space – vast and devoid of anything of importance, not even a planet or star system nearby to make this sector of wild space worth visiting. For a moment, they drift, and she hesitates, not wanting to _doubt_. “The coordinates –”

“They’re correct, my lord. I checked them three times. This must be –”

Then the ships arrive, gliding out of hyperspace in a synchronized, glittering array, and she hears Vette gasp behind her. She’s never seen their like before, pointed edges and sleek lines, lined up so neatly that surely the pilots would barely be able to move from position. It’s an impressive display, meant to intimidate, and she hates that it _works_. There’s no chance of escape, not from this many ships, and she doesn’t intend to sacrifice her ship and crew trying.

“They’re hailing us, my lord.”

“Put it through,” she says, hands curling into fists. What did the Hand intend? What _was_ this?

“Welcome, outlanders.” The fleet’s commander is unfamiliar to her, his Basic spoken with a trace of an accent she doesn’t recognize. “You have been expected.”

“Who are you?” she snaps. “I was sent here by the Emperor’s Hand – who do you serve?”

“Come with us, and all your questions will be answered. His Glorious Majesty, Emperor Valkorion, welcomes you to his Eternal Empire, Zakuul.”


End file.
